The Blue Plate Special
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: It's never wise to invite two women to the same restaurant on the same evening, but when they are both THRUSH agents, it's a very bad idea indeed. Written for the 2014 Easter Egg challenge


"What are you doing here? I didn't know they let your kind in here."

Serena looked up sharply from her examination of the table cloth pattern and into the face of her fellow THRUSH agent. "Obviously they do, since you are here, Angelique."

"Unlike you, I was invited." Angelique removed the stole from her shoulders and settled into the chair that the maitre d' held for her. She settled into the chair and looked coquettishly at the men staring back. "Darling, could you bring me a martini, very dry and very cold?" The man bowed and was gone.

"As was I." Unlike Angelique's glittery evening dress, Serena was dressed in a Chanel classic, a little black dress that hugged all her curves. She sipped her old fashioned. "I suspect dear Napoleon is slipping."

"What do you mean?"

"Inviting both of us to dinner at the same restaurant on the same evening."

"Perhaps he's like every other man and enjoys a good cat fight." A waiter delivered the martini with a flourish. Angelique sipped and nodded, then blew him a kiss. The man wandered away with a small smile on his lips.

"He gets around. That's the same cocktail waiter who brought me my drink. It's nice to see a man in a traditional woman role. It rather evens the playing field." Serena looked around the room. It was full, but the conversation was quiet, intimate, couples making love to each other with their eyes and their words. "Napoleon won't get a catfight. Unlike some agents, I am an adult and a professional. We simply do not catfight."

"Hear, hear." Angelique lifted her glass and touched Serena's. "No matter what, we are coworkers first and rivals later."

"You are not my rival, Angelique. I think that would be apparent. There are times when a man wants one sort of woman… and times when he just wants a woman."

"Be careful how you choose your words, Serena. I respect you as an agent, but there are limits."

"A rival is a rival, be it for promotion or love. One of us will be the winner."

"We will let Napoleon decide, shall we not?" Angelique fanned herself with the menu. "It is very warm in here."

"Yes, we will let Napoleon decide." Serena used her hands to fan her reddening face, a reddening that suddenly had nothing to do with the heat of the restaurant. "Unless…"

"Unless what? My dear, you look as if you swallowed something wrong."

"Unless he intends to entertain us both…"

"Nonsense, this is only a small table, just right for two. Three would never fit."

"That's not what I mean and you know it." Serena's eyes widened and she leaned in closer. "I mean for afters."

"He wouldn't!" Angelique's expression grew momentarily alarmed, then sly. "Although he is also very much like no other man alive."

"What do you see in him?"

"I would guess the same thing you do. He's funny, intelligent and can say more with his eyes than most men can with their lips and a dictionary." Angelique sipped her drink again and hiccupped slightly. She looked horrified.

"And his hands. The things he can do with his hands." Serena's eyelids lowered. "Among other things." She let her eyes travel down Angelique's body. "And I do suppose we are all adults. She giggled slightly and then looked aghast. "What… what did you do to my drink?"

"What did you do to mine?" Angelique tossed the remainder of her drink towards Serena, but since the glass was empty, it was a failed gesture.

"I did nothing…" Serena pulled back and then her eyes grew hard. "That cocktail waiter! Napoleon! He's probably watching all of this right now, ready to take the winner to bed."

"We will show that scoundrel that he can't match wits with THRUSH's finest. As of this moment, Napoleon Solo is off the menu." Angelique stood and snatched up her wrap. "Are you coming, dear?"

"Absolutely! I've had as much Napoleon Solo as I can stomach." Serena also stood and followed her out, past a confused maitre d' and captain and a roomful of amused diners.

In the back of the room, the cocktail waiter tried to keep from laughing as he slid off into the seclusion of the service hall. It was amazing what a little hysteria could do. A familiar on/off blat interrupted and the man brought a silver pen to his lip even as he was pulling off a dark wig.

"Kuryakin."


End file.
